Surprise, Surprise
by joyouswolves
Summary: In which England loses a bet and has to take France on a date. As it turns out, England can be really charming when he wants to. France might be in trouble.
1. Chapter 1

England wasn't late, which was the first thing that took France by surprise that evening. He'd expected England to either be late, or "forget" entirely. But England had knocked on France's door at 6 o'clock sharp. He was well dressed too, another surprise. The well-made, well-fitted suit he was wearing made him almost devilishly handsome.

England smiled when France opened the door, and offered him a single rose. Not red, but lavender. Which, France knew for a fact was England's own personal favorite, and had probably been plucked from his own rose garden as well. All the thorns had been carefully plucked off, and France was surprised (again) by the thoughtfulness.

"Are you ready?" England asked, offering his arm when France nodded. Thankfully, England stopped short of actually handing France into the passenger seat of the car, but still opened the door for him, and gently closed it after.

France had a brief moment to himself as England moved around to his side of the car, and he took a moment to try and get over his shock. He had expected England to be gruff and unhappy, seeing as he didn't want to be doing this in the first place. But England was being as kind and charming as France had ever seen him, and France didn't really know what to do about that.

"So, what have you got planned." France asked, as England pulled his car out of the drive. England just gave him a secretive smile and shook his head, asking about France's day instead of answering. He seemed to be genuinely interested, nodding and taking his eyes off the road to glance at France occasionally as he talked. France was beginning to wonder if he was on a date with an imposter.

They ended up at a small café on the water, the entire place empty but for the two of them. There were more roses, blue and lavender, and candles everywhere. The sun was setting, staining the water orange, and a string quartet was playing softly in the background. France couldn't have planned a better date himself.

The food was excellent, and French, as was the wine. But all that seemed to matter very little. It was the conversation that France really enjoyed. The two of them talked long into the evening, and well past dessert. But there was little business talk. France told England all about a new art exhibit that was coming up, England told France about his latest visit to America, and they began to reminisce about days gone by. But for once, there was no arguing. They laughed together, and France was entranced by the way England's eyes lit up when he was laughing.

Before France even realized it, it was well on towards midnight and England was dropping him off at his door; bowing over France's hand and ghosting a kiss over his knuckles as he said good night. France couldn't drag his jaw off the floor in time to respond before England was gone.

As soon as France was inside, he poured himself another glass of wine, downed it, and poured another. But it didn't help. He couldn't forget the light in England's eyes when he smiled, or the soft brush of his lips against France's knuckles. He'd had all that for one night, and now he'd never have it again.

"Marie." France said, addressing the white cat who was blinking at him from the window-sill, "I may be in trouble." His cat meowed at him in what he assumed was agreement, and France silently wished that this evening hadn't gone so well.

Things went back to normal after that night. France and England still argued violently at World Meetings, and pretty much whenever else they came into contact with one another. The only thing that was different was the way France pined over England. He'd always liked England, but now, after having a small taste of what could have been between them, after having discovered England's charming side, it seemed harder than ever to move on. Eventually, France decided he had to do something or he'd never get over this. He had to find out, beyond a shadow of a doubt, if there was any chance of something more between them.

He found England in his rose garden, smiling softly and talking to his roses as he trimmed away the dead heads and leaves. It was endearing, and France stopped for a moment to watch him from behind the gate. He couldn't quite hear what England was saying, but he thought he heard his own name mixed in a few times. Eventually, when he started to feel a little creepy, he coughed quietly to get England's attention.

"May I come in?" France asked.

"No." England said, the smile leaving his face as he caught sight of France. France tried not to take it personally.

"Come on chère, do not be that way." France said. England didn't say anything, and France supposed that would be as close to an invitation as he was going to get. England didn't say anything as France made himself at home in the rose garden, just turned his attention back to his roses. France settled in at a small table off the side, just watching for the moment, trying to find the right words before he spoke.

"So, I had fun the other night." France said. It wasn't the best ice breaker, but it was all he could come up with. England didn't say anything, but France could see the tips of his ears turning red, so he knew that England knew what he was talking about.

"I wouldn't mind doing it again some time." France said. England's shoulders went stiff and he snipped off a perfectly healthy rose bud.

"I don't think so." England said, curtly. Moving on to another rose bush, but making sure to keep his back to France.

"Why not?" France asked.

"Do I need a reason?" England snapped.

"Do you have one?" France asked. England didn't answer, but instead turned to glare at France. France decided to stop pushing the issue before he got himself yelled at.

"I am disappointed." France sighed, England stopped glaring and rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure you can find any number of people to go out with, France." England said. If France wasn't mistaken, there was a slightly bitter tone to England's voice.

"But I want you." France said, hoping he didn't sound like a petulant child.

"Too bad." England said.

"You don't like me?" France asked, "Not even a little bit?"

"N-no." England said. But the way he had to lower his head when he said that told France it was a lie.

"I don't believe you." France said, sliding out of his chair to wrap his arms around England from behind. "I don't think you're telling me the truth."

"Let go of me, France!" England said, shrugging out of France's arms and whirling around to glower at France.

"Do not make me have to lose a bet to take you on a date." France said. England didn't say anything in response to that.

"I really did have fun last time. I never knew you could be so charming." France said.

"I'm not…" England said, or rather, started to say before he cut himself off. But France was relatively sure he knew what England was trying to say.

"I know." France said. "You may have a charming side, but you are still your grumpy, volatile self. And yet, somehow, I still like you. So, go out with me again?" France punctuated his question by very quickly kissing the tip of England's nose.

"Hmph." England said, scrunching his nose up as his cheeks turned bright red. "No."

"Good. It's settled then." France said smugly. "That art gallery I told you about, let's go to the opening. Wine and dessert after? Sounds good."

"I said no!" England snapped, "Didn't you hear me?"

"Nope. Sorry. Didn't hear you." France said, turning his back and waving over his shoulder as he beat a very hasty retreat out the garden gate.

"Don't get carried away you...you" Instead of finishing his insult, England threw a small clay pot in France's direction. It hit a tree a ways off and shattered, and France thanked his lucky stars that England was at throwing clay pots as he was at throwing insults.

"I'm looking forward to our date!" France said.

"I'm not going on a date with _you_!" England yelled. He kept yelling as France quickly made himself disappear, but France couldn't hear what he was saying. Whatever it was, France was sure that it wasn't complimentary. But France was starting to suspect that maybe England didn't quite mean all those things.

And it only helped to confirm his suspicions when , the next morning, France found eleven red roses waiting for him on his doorstep, still damp with morning dew. And though there was no one in sight, he knew exactly who they were from.

 **Author's Note: I just wanted to see England be really charming and France falling head over heels for it. This isn't exactly that, but I like it anyway! Also, if anyone was curious, there is meaning behind the colors of the roses. (Because I have a strange interest in flower meanings) So the lavender rose means enchantment, or love at first sight. The blue roses (though they aren't exactly natural, I'm just pretending they are) mean something unattainable or impossible. Red roses, of course, mean love, and eleven roses mean that the person who receives them is very deeply loved. There. Now you know more about roses and their meanings that you probably wanted to. You're welcome.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys, I decided to change the ending of the first part just a little bit and also add on a second chapter at least. For now, this is it, but I may add more in the distant future if the urge ever strikes me. Also, LollipopTurtle (love your user name btw) I totally agree that the pacing in the first chapter was off a bit! It was kind of rushed. Thanks for pointing that out!**

 **Oh, hey, btw, there was a very, very subtle Disney reference in the first chapter. I forgot to mention it in the A/N for the first chapter, but major brownie points to anyone who spotted it! (or who is able to spot it now that I remembered to mention it!)**

"Thank you for the roses." Was the first thing that France said when England showed up. He'd been tempted to bring England roses of his own, but he didn't think that they would be well-received.

"Humph." England scowled and looked away, "I didn't send you any roses."

France just smiled knowingly and didn't say anything. He didn't want to start a fight so early on. Despite having called France multiple times over the course of the week, just to shout "I'm not going!" into the phone and hang up, England had been right on time. Well dressed, again, if not smiling like he had been last time. But France would take what he got.

"It's not a date." England said, before anything else. "I just wanted to see the gallery, and you happen to be here."

"Alright." France said amicably, "Then let me show you around."

The more they walked, the more England defrosted and became (at least a little bit) more pleasant. The gallery itself was a work of art, with it's domed ceilings and granite floors. It was also very larger. It had everything, from sculptures to paintings to photographs and even a small room full of art done by some local kindergartners. France couldn't help but grin like a dope as the children were given a tour of the room and began to squeal in delight when they saw their work hanging in a real art gallery. Even England had a smile on his face as they watched the children.

"Ah," France said as they entered the next room. "these are my favorites. They're all done by a middle school girl named Amélie. She has put a lot of love into them, no?"

"They are rather good." England said, stepping forward to get a closer look. They were all landscapes. Paris, Rome, Moscow, and several cities England couldn't recognize. All of them framed with a window of some sort. They were almost photo-realistic, and the colors were magnificent.

"She travels a lot with her parents, and she paints the views from her hotel windows." France said, "She has a lot of talent for someone her age. I can't wait to see what she does next."

It took them hours to get through the gallery, and though France occasionally gave the name of an artist or pointed something out that he thought was particularly good, they mostly walked in silence. But it wasn't awkward, it was kind of nice. It was a friendly, comfortable kind of silence.

England made moves to leave once they left the gallery, but France very carefully shuffled him into the late-night bakery that was just across the street, not even giving him a chance to protest. England did send him a glare, but he didn't say anything.

France had found the strange restaurant when he had first checked on the gallery's progress, and he'd been back almost on a weekly basis ever since. They offered a different five-course dessert meal every night, each paired with it's own wine, of course. And the balcony had a view of Paris at night that was hard to beat.

England stopped his glaring the moment the first dessert was brought out. Tonight they started out with crêpes with cream and berries, followed swiftly by Madelienes, then a crème brûlée and finally chocolate mousse and chocolate eclairs. By the time they had finished off the eclairs, England was smiling softly, and asked their waitress to give his compliments to the chef. It seemed the good food and good wine had put him in a good mood.

There was a car waiting outside to take England home (somehow, someone knew that England would be drinking and had forbidden him to drive himself home), but England had paused for a moment, then muttered something to the driver before turning back to France.

"I suppose that it would be terribly rude of me not to walk you home." England said.

"If you insist." France said, trying to suppress a grin, "Come along, then." France took a chance and hooked his arm through England's. England started to sputter indignantly, but didn't yank his arm away, so France just started to tug him along. They walked in silence, but this time it wasn't so comfortable.

"And how are your roses doing?" France asked, grasping at straws for a way to break the silence and not start an argument. He thought roses would be a safe topic.

"They're doing well." England said carefully, side-eying France suspiciously before moving on. "I just planted a few new ones the other day."

England ended up talking about his roses the whole way. France thought it should have annoyed him, but it really didn't. He'd never seen England so energized about something (unless he was pissed off). It was enchanting, and his eyes were lighting up almost as brightly as they did when he laughed. He even let it slip that he named his favorite roses. Cute.

"Well, here we are." France said. England had been too busy talking to notice. "Do say hello to Elizabeth for me."

(Elizabeth was one of the rose bushes England had mentioned. She was a lavender rose who apparently got fussy if you forgot to give her a trim at least once a week.) England turned bright red and stared at France. Apparently he hadn't realized how much he had told France. France took the opportunity to duck in and press two soft kisses to England's cheeks.

"I had fun. We should do this again." France said, stepping inside and closing the door quickly enough that England couldn't manage to hit him in retaliation. He did take a look through his peep hole to find out just how red England's cheeks could get. The answer was very. Very red.

A day later France sent England some roses, figuring it was his turn. Not cut roses, like England had given him, but a miniature red rose in a beautiful blown glass pot for England to add to his collection.


End file.
